


It's Alright

by GalekhXigisi



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, I REALIZED I TAGGED IT WRONG, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder-Suicide, No Beta, Stranger Things stuff in there too, Trans Richie Tozier, Zombie Apocalypse, no incest ya nasties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 01:16:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: The Losers fight their way through the end of the world.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough & Georgie Denbrough, Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Maggie & Wentworth & Richie Tozier, Maggie Tozier/Wentworth Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Kudos: 10





	1. The start

Richie glares at his mother, the woman offering a stern expression in return to his own. There’s not exactly any ill manner behind it, thankfully. If there were, Wentworth would have done his best to intervene and keep it from spreading into a genuine problem for the oncoming three-hour car ride the family would be taking. They were going to see Richie’s cousins, the Wheelers, and maybe even the Pavlikovskys if the separate branch managed to show. They never really did, so who the fuck was to say for sure? The Toziers hadn’t seen any family in almost six years, now, really. After moving to Derry, there was a sharp disconnect that everyone felt, not that they’d go about talking of said disconnection. 

“Richie,” Maggie sighs, “Just get in the fuckin’ car,” she says. She presses the tips of her fingers to her temples, massaging them with a harsh hum. “I know this is going to be a shit trip, but it’s only two weeks.” 

“Yeah, two weeks of Aunt Karen still calling me the wrong name,” he huffs, finally pushing himself into the back of the vehicle, immediately sprawling out his long limbs, draping over the bags sitting around him. 

Maggie sighs as she walks around the car, throwing open the driver’s door. Wentworth gives her a wary look, one she easily discards. “Well, she’ll probably at least  _ try _ to get it right, okay? She’s not all that bad, really.” He rolls his eyes. 

Wentworth frowns at his son, turning in his seat to somewhat face the youngest Tozier. “Hey, Mikey and his little boyfriend’ll be there, too! Remember how well you two used to get along?” 

He crosses his arms and frowns. “We didn’t get along any better than I did with Nancy,” 

“I think Nancy moved away with her boyfriend to some fancy college,” Maggie hums as she starts the car. 

Richie raises a brow. “Do you think she’s still with Steve?” 

“Maybe she’s with Byers’ older boy,” Went says with a shrug, commenting the words idly. 

“And they actually moved in together? When’d she break up with Steve? Weren’t they dating since, like, fifth grade or some shit? And she won’t be coming for New Years?” 

Went shrugs at his son, the family managing to carry on a conversation, though, honestly, most of it is just gossiping about the Wheelers. It wasn’t abnormal. They liked to gossip about the families. In the small town that was Derry, it was either gossip about the neighbors or hang out at the quarry all alone, which had become Richie’s two only pass times, as neither of his parents were never home and even though he had lived in Derry for six years now, he never really managed to keep a friend outside of a few months. 

They talk for two hours, carefully avoiding the ice that came with winter and traffic that muddled with slush, turning to take the backroads. As Richie quickly found, the backroads weren’t fun because,  _ “Holy shit, Mom,” _ he yells, pointing ahead. He says it too late, though, watching as the hood of the car slams into a body, the body tumbling over the roof. 

The car stops after a moment of sliding, Maggie sitting silently for a moment before saying, “We could just…  _ keep going. _ I mean-” 

“If they’re not dead,” Richie interrupts, “They’ll die from the cold or their injuries.” 

Went sighs and nods at the words. “C’mon, Maggie.” he’s already making his way out, the cold whipping at the car instantly. “Rich, stay in the car, okay?” 

Richie nods, watching as his parents leave the car with somewhat wide eyes, a little worried for the two. He peers out the back window as he watches them walk towards the body, Maggie pulling her coat tighter around herself. He can’t hear them, but he can see his mother bend down, attempting to examine what looked like a corpse. The skin was milky, almost as pale as Richie’s own from the little bit he could see. He thinks it’s probably from the cold. Who the fuck would be walking out in the cold like this? 

His mother pokes at the body, somewhat wary of it. He can see his mother turn to his father, saying something that he can’t make out from his spot, just a bit too far away from his spot in the back of the car. She suddenly lets out a scream, the body moving and gripping at her leg. Richie expects a hand, expects to see fleshy fingers with a blue tint. Instead, he sees a face, one with hollowed-out eyes and flesh falling from their face, teeth wrapped around his mother’s ankle, biting. He falls out of his seat, falling into the floorboard with a loud  _ thump. _

Richie stumbles forward, calling for his mom, watching her with wide, terrified eyes. She rips her foot away, standing up quickly before shoving her foot forward in a harsh blur of sharp movements. He just barely catches it, watching the head fly forward with his mouth open wide. The two adults stumble towards the car, Maggie now taking the passenger seat and Went going with the driver. 

_ “Mom,” _ he yelps as his father quickly pushes the gas, not giving the car much of a chance to do anything else, “What the  _ fuck?” _

“I’m okay, Sweetie,” she tries. 

Richie knows she isn’t. He can see how pale she already is, though he’s rather sure its more from the shock and low temperatures than anything else. He doesn’t listen, though, moving through the bags of things to pull out whatever he can to stop the blood that he knows is pouring from his mother’s new wound. The car falls silent, tense as can be. 

-

They have to pull over soon. Not because they want to, but because the car is out of gas. As they find, the next few towns were next to dead already, harboring no life other than what they had seen bite Maggie. She was limping as they searched for shelter, whether it be to get out of the cold or to stay away from the maggot-infested walkers. His father held the gun that he always kept in the car’s “secret compartment” for protection against his waist, hand on the handle but not yet pulled as they stalked across the snowy town. 

“Looks like no one’s been here for years,” Maggie says in a shaky whisper. She had accepted Richie’s help when it came to bandaging her ankle, though it was clear she wasn’t too happy about it. “D’you think that hotel would have anyone in it?” 

Wentworth shrugs. “Doesn’t exactly say  _ Welcome _ on it,” he mumbles, but he’s already moving forward. Richie follows, assisting his mother silently. He doesn’t feel like saying much, not with the way his mouth feels so dry. His tongue feels like sandpaper, no longer there for him to talk in the first place. 

The doors open to a dark room, one that makes Wentworth pull ou his lighter and flick on. When he finds the light switch and flips it on, the light seems to filter through the establishment just fine. He idly comments, “Guess it hasn’t been abandoned for too long, huh? Electricity’s still on.” 

Maggie hums, taking a seat in the rolly chair behind the desk. The plaque reads  _ Receptionist _ in fancy, black lettering, Cursive, Richie recognizes, sighing softly as he bends down to check his mother’s ankle. 

“Dad,” he says, “Can you get some alcohol and see if the water is on? This might get infected.” The only reason he knows what to do was because he was so accident-prone, even as a child. He constantly came home with cuts and bruises. “I don’t know if you could find any antibiotics here if it got to that.” 

“Well, not in here, no,” Went comments as he moves through the hotel’s lobby, already moving to fulfill his request. 

-

“She’s not any better,” Richie whispers, tears in his eyes. Forty-eight hours since the bite on his mother and nothing had changed for the better. She looked like that monster that had bitten her, eyes milky white and sunken with her skin tinted green. It was ickier than any infection Richie had seen, and he had seen  _ hundreds _ of infections. Her wound wasn’t even infected to begin with!

Wentworth had already been crying, had seen what his son meant. They had put Maggie in a separate room to avoid waking her up, to keep from ever doing anything to disturb her while she was healing. She had agreed with a soft hum, smiling at her two boys as they helped roll her chair to the first room. He nods at his son. She wasn’t talking anymore, just grunting in acknowledgment. It was like a disgusting virus. 

“Two more days,” the man says. 

Richie nods, sniffling. 

-

“It’s been three days,” Richie whimpers in a broken voice. They hadn’t gone out of the hotel too much outside of the time Wentworth had gone a few blocks over to raid a pharmacy, stealing whatever medication and food he could get his hands. There had been a couple of trips, only two of which Richie had gone with him for. The medication hadn’t helped in the least. Now, the woman in the first room of the hotel was nothing more than one of the walking corpses that invaded the world outside of the hotel. 

The oldest Tozier looked dead. Deep bags sat beneath his eyes, ones that meant he had barely slept a wink in the past few days. He wasn’t eating, either, Richie knew, because he had done all the cooking and his mother stopped eating three and a half days ago, now giving no response outside of a guttural groan. 

Wentworth nods, sighing softly. “Alright, son… I’ll take care of it. Whatever you do, don’t come in, okay?” 

Richie forces a nod as he watches his father stand. He watches him enter the room and the door shut behind him. 

Almost instantly, there comes a loud  _ bang. _ Richie flinches, the sound that’s too obviously of a body dropping prying a sob from the twelve-year-old. What he doesn’t expect is for the sound to repeat. 

_ “Dad,” _ he shouts, standing up and moving forward, jerking the door open within seconds. The disgusting scene of two bodies on the floor makes Richie throw up, vomiting all over the blood-splattered carpet. His cries could be heard loud and clear for anyone that dared listen hard enough. 


	2. Stan!

Richie aims with a frown, watching as the arrow flies through the air. The disgusting sound of something  _ puncturing _ skin and bone sounds through the woods, a disgusting noise in the slush that comes with the cold weather’s clearing. Within the past three and a half months he’s had alone, he’s learned to survive the cold, to brave it the same way he was sure others were doing. He hadn’t left the town, not yet, but he’d made it his own within that time. He’d learned how to keep the electricity on and water going after raiding the library just a week after his parent’s burial. He didn’t need the electricity too much, but it was nice to have when he needed it to be warm. 

A loud voice calls, “What the  _ fuck?” _ Richie frowns, lowering the bow as soon as he hears it. He stoops down and presses himself against the tree branch, wary of who it could be. He had only run into one other person over these few months and he doubts he wants to again. He had a thick scar across his cheek because of it, because of the boy named Henry who Richie felt like he should know but could never pin down. 

Someone stumbles forward, a golden halo of curls falling in front of them as they look over the corpse of the zombie. The arrow had pierced its skull and pinned it to ground. Even if it was still alive, it wouldn’t be moving, not any time soon, at least. The golden haloed kid turns their head around, examining the forest. “I - I don’t know who’s there, but please don’t kill me?’ They throw their hands up. “I’m alone, i can’t hurt anyone, I just-” 

Richie doesn’t wait for this kid’s pity party, jumping down from his spot in the trees, feet landing in the slushy mud. It was fucking disgusting, but Richie could handle it just fine. Golden eyes landed on his on, wide and full of fear before somewhat relaxing at just seeing the one person. Richie doesn’t exactly give them much of a chance to relax, though. The instant he’s close enough, he shoves them forward, watching mud cover their front as he bends their arm behind their back. He’d never tried this, but the books and movies seemed to be accurate enough as he holds an arrow to their throat. 

“I want your name and intentions,  _ now,” _ he bites, teeth grit. He wonders if they can tell it’s all for show. 

“I’m Stanley Uris,” they huff out in a terrified breath, answer his question instantly. “I - I just want somewhere safe, that’s all!” 

Richie frowns, thinking out what the shorter had sad for a moment before pulling away. “Okay,” he says, standing upright. He walks over to the corpse, not acknowledging the other’s whines at being shoved in the mud. Instead, he focuses on planting his foot on the skull of the newly deceased but somehow also already deceased’s head, pulling the arrow away with a sigh. “Is that all you do,” he bites. 

Stanley raises a brow. “What?” 

“Bitch and play coward,” Richie recounts, “I asked if that’s all you do.” 

“What makes you think-” 

“You instantly surrendered and you’re bitching about the mud I got on you.” He puts the arrow back in the makeshift holder. He had broken most of his genuine arrows, resorting back to whatever the books told him and however sharp enough he could sharpen a stick or rock. It wasn’t much, but it certainly seemed to kill easily enough. 

“You got  _ cold fucking mud-” _

“Shut  _ up,” _ Richie groans, turning to glare at the other. “If you’re going to be such a little bitch about it, you can just take a fucking shower at my place,  _ Jesus.” _

“I’m Jewish,” Stan says with a frown. 

“Well, me, too, Jesus is just a universal name to use as in a bitchy tone. Just like all other men, he’s a  _ fucking disappointment.” _

“But you’re a guy, too,” Stanley yelps, pointing at the boy. 

Richie’s stomach swells and his cheeks tint red. “Yeah, I am, and I’m a fucking  _ loser. _ Now, do you want a warm shower or not, you pampered bitch?” 

_ “‘Pampered Bitch,’” _ he repeats, brow raised. 

Richie nods and scoffs. “Yeah, yeah,  _ Pampered Bitch! _ I bet your parents have a shit ton of fuckin’ money and you were probably a daddy’s boy,  _ weren’t you? _ He’s fuckin’ dead now, too, isn’t he?” 

Stan glares, pausing. 

“Fucking thought so.” 

Richie doesn’t wait for a reply. If the other wants to follow, he will. If he doesn’t, so fucking be it. Richie wasn’t going to put forth effort if he didn’t have to. If this Stanley kid wanted to fucking survive, he’d follow. 

-

“So, you just live by yourself,” Stan asks with a raised brow. 

Richie nods, passing forth a plate of green beans. Stan takes it without any hesitation. Richie bites back any sort of  _ stupid ass, I could fucking poison you and you’re not even going to try to inspect it? _ Instead, he just accepts that this guy is fucking stupid. 

“Why?” 

“What’d you mean  _ why?” _

“Well, I just mean- You look young- I don’t-” 

Richie watches the other boy try to find an explanation, stumbling over his words. His cheeks are tinted red, hair moving with his movements as he tries his best. Eventually, Richie the raven decides to put him out of his misery by supplying, “My mom got turned and when my dad finally decided enough was enough on her, he went, too.” 

_ “Oh,” _ Stan whispers, frowning. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

“Shut up,” Richie deadpans, fork aimed at the other, “Now, what’s your story? You’re,  _ what, _ ten?” 

“I’m fucking twelve,” he immediately bites back. 

“Twelve,” he corrects with a roll of his eyes, “Whatever. Now, why are you alone?” 

Stan frowns. “Mom died when I was a kid, dad didn’t make it through the first month with it being winter.” 

Richie nods. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Richie settles with a shrug. “What else do you want me to say? I could say that I’m sorry, but I’m not and you don’t seem to glum about it, either. Hell, you sound more like you ran away than anything.” he points his fork back at Stanley, which now had a green bean on it, one that Richie takes into his mouth after a moment. When Stanley looks away and doesn’t answer, Richie’s eyes bulge. “Holy  _ shit, _ you  _ did?” _

“I didn’t want to watch him  _ die, _ okay,” Stan replies. 

Richie only frowns, nodding as he hears the other get defensive. He doesn’t hesitate to supply, “I didn’t want to watch my mom die, either…” He stares at the plate for a moment before mumbling, “But at least I got closure.” 

  
The two fall silent afterward. 


	3. Eddie, Bill, and Georgie!

The two boys learn to live in harmony within the next month they have together. It’s simple, Richie cooks and Stan hunts, albeit Stan doesn’t really  _ “hunt,” _ more so just finds whatever he can. There was a point where Richie had volunteered the idea of traveling to one of the towns near them to see if there was any cattle left, though Stan had disputed the idea with  _ I didn’t see any  _ and  _ even if there had been any, they’re probably dead by now, what if the cold and all the zombies walking around. _ Richie hadn’t disputed that. They learned a lot of things about each other. Richie learned that Stanley Uris was the only son of Andrea James and Donald Uris, who were both only children with no parents around. And Stan learned that Richie was the son of Wentworth and Maggie Tozier, who had seven aunts and uncles on his mom’s side with twelve on his dad’s, to which he had explained that he only talked to two branches of those families, which were the Wheelers and Pavlikovskys. 

The two got along well enough, easily learning to tolerate each other despite their first impressions on each other. Richie taught Stan how to work the electricity and water. At first, Stan had been against it since he didn’t really plan to stay long, but after Richie had said  _ for when you move on, so you know what to do, _ he had begrudgingly listened to the other, taking in the knowledge with a golf ball in his throat.

They had learned to compromise together. After Richie would cook, they would sit together and read. It was mostly just Stan reading and Richie listening as best he could. Stan was patient when Richie would interrupt, voicing his confusion or whatever comment he had in a stride. He relaxed around the golden-haired boy and had even picked up a book on birds from the library after he heard Stan idly comment that he missed the birds at one point. 

It was during one of their reading times that they noticed a third person join their little party. Well, third, fourth, and fifth. They hadn’t even planned on it to happen, just sitting in the garden Richie had begun planting and watering with a book in Stan’s hand. One moment, they were reading about a scientist dissecting someone’s stomach and the next, they were hearing a soft voice say,  _ “Billy, I’m tired.” _ Richie was at attention within an instant, much faster than Stan, who hadn’t even heard the distant noise,  _ apparently. _

“What,” Stan asks with a raised brow. 

“You didn’t hear that,” Richie asks. When he gets a head shake in return, Richie’s brows furrow and he vaguely points in the direction he heard the voice, whining softly. 

“What?” 

It takes him a second to force out the words, having to think them out before he says them because his brain is moving too fast and he thinks he  _ might _ be panicking, but he manages to force out, “Someone’s here!” 

Stan frowns at the other, closing his book and standing. 

_ “Bill,” _ comes another voice,  _ “We’re gonna have to stop soon. I think I broke my fucking arm.” _

_ “Language,” _ the first voice giggles.

_ “I - It’s bent all wr - wr - wrong, of cour - rse you broke i - i - i - it,” _ a third voice chides, somewhat annoyed with the second person. 

“They sound…  _ young,” _ Stan comments. 

“Yeah,” Richie mumbles, reaching towards his knife. 

Stan puts his hand against the other’s, shaking his head.  _ “Dude! _ Knife  _ later, _ okay? We aren’t going to get any allies with violence.” 

Richie smirks at the other. “I got you as an ally with a very sharp arrow to your throat, didn’t I,” he taunts. 

Stan rolls his eyes and moves forward, Richie following within an instant. The group of three isn’t far, In fact, they only have to  _ stand _ to see it. They’re all young, undoubtedly the same age as Richie is, probably a little older than Stan. Or, at least, two of them are. The third is young, probably six or seven, held on the taller of the two’s back. 

“We’ve got to get Georgie some antibiotics,” pipes in the second voice, who had holding an arm that  _ definitely _ shouldn’t be bent that way up, said, somewhat worried. He was much shorter than the other, who had the youngest boy on his back and bag around his front. 

Richie doesn’t think. He  _ should _ think, knows he  _ definitely _ should have fucking thought this through, but he’s moving before he can think. “Dude, your arm is  _ fucked,” _ he stresses with a frown, worry prying at him as he moves forward, “that’s not going to heal right if you don’t set it.” 

_ “Who _ gave you the right to-”

Richie isn’t listening to the short boy with the  _ obviously _ broken arm. He’s looking at the boy on the tallest’s back, the one who looks pale and has blood dripping from a nub that obviously used to be an arm. Richie can only feel sympathetic as he looks at them. “You’re fucking  _ disasters,” _ he bites immediately, much to Stan’s dismay. “You’re all going to end up in a ditch with maggots crawling through your skulls. You  _ stupid fucks-” _

“Richie,” Stan yells, “Just get to the point and stop being mean!” 

“The point is that the kid is bleeding out and probably has an infection! And the dude with a broken arm probably tore something or some shit!” He throws his arm out at the three newbies, to which he knows aren’t exactly as welcoming to his angry tone as anyone else will be. However, he doesn’t care, not in the least. I’m fucking  _ sorry _ that I don’t want a kid to d-” he doesn’t finish the word, it simply dying on his tongue. They seem to understand, though. 

“F - Fine,” The tallest says, “Then he - hel - help us.” Richie thinks his name is Billy or Bill. 

“Where’d you learn so much about medical shit,” the boy with a broken arm asks. 

“I was in and out of the hospital as a kid,” he says with a stern glare, already moving the same way he had with stan months ago. 

-

“Georgie didn’t exactly like the disinfecting stuff,” Richie says to Stan, who was sitting in the reception area of the hotel. “He’s asleep now, though.” 

“Are you okay,” Stan asks the taller of the two, who looked pale. 

“I don’t like blood,” Richie says with a pursed lips, though he doesn’t give any more information as he turns towards Eddie, whose arm still dangled in a disgusting way. “I have to set your arm.” 

“Wh - What?” Eddie suddenly looks pale as can be at that comment. “You have to  _ what?” _

“I have to set it.” He starts miming his words as he tells the other his plan. “I have to straighten it, put on the best version of a cast that I can, and then go from there. It’ll mostly be just checking it every bit and all that, but-” 

“Hold on,” Eddie whimpers, “Straighten it?” 

Richie rolls his eyes. “I can’t leave it bent like that, now can I?”

“I mean, you  _ could.” _

Richie glares. “You can barely move your fingers the right way and you’re telling me that  _ you, _ the same kid who has been bitching about how much your arm hurts the entire fucking  _ hour _ you have been here, want to leave it like  _ that? _ You do know just how shittily it’ll heal and that it probably won’t even actually heal, right? So, you’ll be stuck with a broken arm and unusable limb for the entire rest of your life that’ll probably only hurt and piss you off for the literal entire rest of your life, no matter how short it fucking is?” 

Eddie looks paler than he did earlier, his cheeks devoid of color as he listens to Richie go more and more in-depth about this injury. The sharp glare aimed his way doesn’t help, but he thinks that it’s not ill-willed. He softly mumbles, “Yeah, I guess you can set it,” eyes turned away from the other. 

Richie places his hands on each side of the broken spot, watching Eddie tense. His only warning is, “THis is going to hurt.” The shorter doesn’t get a singular syllable out before Richie is straightening it. 

The string of curses that leave the shortest boy in the room pry cackles from the tallest, who ends up on the floor, in tears at all the words Eddie manages to spew during the minute he has to process the pain. He has to wait a few minutes before he can start putting the boy’s arm in a splint so he can calm down. 

-

“He’s healing great,” Richie reports to Bill after two months, smiling at the boy he had befriended. 

“He - He’s a trooper,” Bill says with a soft smile. 

“How’re you doing, though? I know that cutting off your little brother’s arm can’t be too fun and Eddie just seems like a handful anyway.” 

Bill’s smile cracks a little wider as he scoffs. “I’m okay.” 

Richie just nods, knowing better than to pry. The raven softly comments, “If you ever want to talk about it, though… I’m here and I know Stan’ll listen, too. We might not be able to help too much, but we’ll do what we can.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments! I love them!
> 
> here's my discord server!  
https://discord.gg/eGkwayy


End file.
